


Heautontimorumenos

by orphan_account



Category: Gladiator (2000)
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 06:56:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10657275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: AU/missing scenes – Emperor Commodus’ bloodlust is unquenchable. Visiting Maximus, the gladiator in his cell proves to reveal him the source and possibly the cure for his unbalanced humours. The challenge will be greater than he had feared...Note:





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heautontimorumenos: the self-tormentor. Fanfic originally posted at epic_slash and historic_slash.

The whore stood next to the bed. The imperial bed. It was soft, bouncy, spacious – enough room for a whole hetairia. And Commodus was sitting on it, alone. He knew that if the whore joined him, the space would still not be filled. But it might do for the moment. 

“Disrobe,” the emperor ordered. And he spread his own long red cloak out behind him. Before he laid his eyes on the whore, he caught a glimpse of his own shoulders. They were white and emaciated. Not broad or taught like a hero’s, even though he trained like an athlete, practically like a gladiator. Speaking of swords, his own dagger was not in the mood to strike tonight, even though the whore, whom he now gave a little attention, had a pleasant figure. She was tall, her dark curls fell around her breasts as she pulled the slide out of her hair. High cheekbones, full lips, eyes as dark as ebony.  
Commodus didn’t bother to look further down. He knew already that he did not want it. She was too submissive. 

He smirked at his contradictory attitude. What else could she be? It was the essential nature of a whore to yield to her client. And even more so to the emperor of Rome. And that was what made them so – boring. 

He watched his stomach muscles twitch as he inhaled deeply. 

“Out,” he breathed. She did not move. 

“Out, I said!” he snapped, gathered her gown from the ground, shoved it into her bosom and nearly knocked her down. “Cassius?! Cassius!” he shouted and the echo of his servant’s footsteps approached. 

“Get out of my sight, whore! Cassius?” 

“Your Royal Highness?” the slave reported, out of breath. 

“Take her away, add her to the list,” the emperor commanded casting his eyes across the room in disgust. 

“The – the…?” 

“Yes of course, you fool.” 

Without another word, and trying to muffle the woman’s cries, the servant dragged her away. The fifth. 

As Commodus let himself fall back onto his red cape, he thought about the woman and felt no remorse. 

*

All the others had died for the very reason Commodus had blood on his hands tonight. The killing had begun a week ago. It had been a man. Younger than him. Not particularly beautiful features, chest hairless and not overly muscular, but a taught, stocky frame which reminded him of someone he’d known in the past. Commodus had not intended to kill him. But as the youth refused to lay his eyes on him, was it out of shame or distaste, the emperor never knew, he shoved the man against the wall and cracked his scull. 

The greenish shade of blue in the youth’s dead, screwed up eyes haunted the emperor to this day. Maybe he should have shut the lids while he’d had the chance. 

Commodus swore never to invite any catamites into his chamber again. Every time it would be too hurtful for his torn soul to stand. But he realised quickly that females did not diminish his grief. And he would have each one of them executed – ironically for not being what he desired.  
He was sick of the game of longing and self-denial. But he did not know what would save him from drowning in this quicksand. 

 

Soft footsteps that could only be his sister’s approached the canapé. She stopped as she had reached the white curtain and remained so that Commodus could only make out her silhouette. He could feel her resentment towards him even through the fabric. So she was not going to look at him today. 

“I thought we’d agreed on the issue of random executions.” She spoke flatter than usual. 

“They were not ra…” he began, but held his tongue. 

A sharp intake of breath was the only sound he heard from Lucilla. 

“They had to die. It is the only way to prove that I do not need them.” Commodus slouched against a bedpost with his back to his sister. 

He heard her pace back and forth. She did this very quietly, but since he had known the sound for years, especially that of her calculating mind accompanying her footsteps, it was quite clear.

“Do you want us to be regarded as tyrants?” she said at last, the volcanic bubbles of rage reaching the surface. “Is that your desire for a public image? Blood and gore not only in the arena, but also in the palace of the Emperorgod?” 

“No, that’s not what…” he trailed off. 

“Then what is it your scheming mind wants to achieve by this?!” she cried out. “They might be slaves, but they still have a right to live. We’re not in the Colosseum here, Commodus. This is our home. You besmirch the honour of the penates by inviting Death to our domicile.”

“Have you seen him yet?” he whispered regardless of her question.

“Who, Maximus?” 

“Maximus…” he whimpered the name out loud and covered his mouth instantly, biting onto the back of his hand. It lingered in his mind for a few moments crushing everything around it like a live anvil. 

“Why should I go and see him?”

Stop trying to act, sister.

“What has Maximus to do with the slaying of the innocent?” she asked.

“Do you not understand, sister?” Commodus began calmly. “What happens in this house has as much to do with him as the slaughter of the innocent on the battlefield and the slaughter of the innocent on the sand of the Colosseum. He fought in the mud in Germania defeating the barbarian hordes. Now he conquers the arena and has the whole of Rome licking his slave-feet. And next…”

“Is this about a challenge?” his sister interrupted him. “You will spill blood until he combats you in the arena.”

The emperor closed his eyes.

“This is insane,” Lucilla gasped and like a gale she swept away across the marble floor. 

“Go, sister! Go and tell him what you wish. He will have a chance to prepare himself. For battle once more,” he said rather to himself than Lucilla. 

*

Of course Commodus knew that his sister was lusting after Maximus. Perhaps she even loved him still. Now that he was once again the great man, that is. And what stood in her way to just visit him in his cell at night to tell him of her brother’s plans, to warn him – and to fulfil her fantasies. What fantasies… Maximus would probably be his stoic self at first, rant on about the memory of his dead wife and son, but once she got her hand on his crotch he wouldn’t argue a moment. She might even unlock his shackles after having sucked him off, so he could encircle her waist with his strong arms and grind his hips into hers. Her small waist – his short arms, what a combination!

Commodus giggled to himself as he strapped on his brown leather breastplate over the toga and calasiris. It would be light enough to prevent exhaustion and still give him an air of warrior spirit. But he was not going to wear the laurel wreath tonight. Long past midnight he stole out of the sleeping palace. 

If not by the purple robe he was hooded in, the few beggars and drunken tavern locals recognised him as wealthy by his white horse that he had brought home from Germania. It shone in the moonlight and took him swiftly to the Colosseum not even whinnying at the barking dogs. Commodus was grateful at the animal’s imperturbability. It felt like an island between dark walls and the reeking rabble closing in on him. 

*

The procedure of paying off the guard was simple. Commodus had him bowing and scraping in the corner once he’d revealed his identity. 

Then came the waiting. The cell the guard had lead him in was pitch black apart from a small grid pattern of light thrown on the floor by the moonlight. After Commodus had examined this, he concentrated a buckle of his armour, then a loose brick in his corner of the cell struck him as most interesting, but soon his nerves took over and he started pacing across the small space, back and forth, crunching the gravel under his exquisite boots. He’d revised the encounter yet-to-come time and time again in his head to find perfect expressions, apt body language and threats ready to convince an obstreperous tiger. But by now he’d forgotten everything again.

Was Maximus’ goddamned prison cell on the other side of the building, or what? This guard was going to pay for this. He already imagined pouring molten lead down the man’s throat…

Rattling of chains and a hand was at Commodus’ throat squeezing hard. His first reflex after gagging was to kick, but the attacker was probably prepared for something like that. So he waited a little longer.

“Maximus?” he forced out hoarsely. 

The grip tightened. His remaining senses started to fade out.

“How did you get i…”

“How did I get in here?” Maximus’ ever resonant baritone.“You didn’t hear me, did you. Because I was in first.”

“And you let me wait…” Commodus could not continue.

“Speak up, Highness,” the slave hissed and squeezed a bit more. 

A flaming heat not only from the blood accumulating in his head, but also from rage started to boil his brains and he croaked, “If you do not let me go this moment – you will most certainly pay for this.”

“Pay for it – aha…” Maximus trailed off. “Yet, as I understood your sister, you want something from me that I can always deny you.”

Commodus’ eyes blinked at the other man’s provocative talk. What had Lucilla told him? And what hadn’t she?

“And you see.” Now Commodus could feel Maximus’ hot, stale breath on his ear, “I have nothing to lose.” 

“No you – don’t,” Commodus stammered. He didn’t know if he could stand the lack of air any longer. “But there are certain people connected to you. If you deny – there will be more deaths.”

With these words Maximus’ grip loosened a fraction. “What deaths?” 

Combining his last ounces of strength the emperor hauled himself out of the stronger man’s reach, and coughing and choking he slouched to the ground. As he tried to compose himself he evaluated the situation. Any quick movement from Maximus’ side could be detected by the rattling of his chains that were, as Commodus had heard, around his wrists. And they only had a limited range, otherwise Maximus would have followed him into his corner.

“She set all this up,” Commodus eventually said. His voice betrayed no fears and no desires, only the physical rupture his vocal chords had gone through. “Didn’t she?”

Nothing. 

Yes.

“What Deaths?” Maximus demanded. 

Time to lay out the last bate. The fattest worm of all. “They are slaves like you, Maximus.”

“You mean gladiators?” the hero’s voice grew weak. 

“You could see them as such, yes.” Commodus smiled. “They are the gladiators of Roman bed chambers. The whores of Rome. Five up till now. And there will be more. They all die for you, Maximus.”

“So now you’ve had my family burned and crucified,” he said under his breath, his voice strangled with a suppressed sob, “you want the satisfaction of having killed me with your own hands.”

“I want my people to see that their emperor has the courage to kill,” Commodus snapped. “And who could be a more appropriate opponent than the new champion Maximus.”

Then the emperor threw his hands in the air. “And for the sake of the Gods!” he cursed. “The next time I come here, I want torches to be lit.”

“Scared of the dark, Highness?” 

Commodus felt something sting in his stomach. “No, I – it restricts me like the curb holds back a horse. I have a vision, Maximus. And what is a vision without light to throw upon it,” he added leaning closely into the curve of the gladiator’s shoulder, but not touching. 

“You will never see my true self, Highness. Not even in the brightest sunlight. There will be only a mask – an arrangement of features. Flesh, hair, a bone structure.”

“If it makes you feel better?” 

For a few moments that could have been hours Commodus waited for the stoic to say something. For the briefest of moments Commodus’ lips had brushed the shoulder as he whipped his head round and shouted for the guard.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he finally said towards the door. “I will…”

“You will call on me before long, I suppose?”

The light of the guard’s torch did not reach into the cell. And strangely, Commodus preferred it that way. He flung his cloak around him and left.

*

The emperor’s white horse trotted around the gladiatorial barracks, past the Colosseum and through the back streets to the palace. Commodus could not stop wondering why Maximus never quite got down to killing him. After “The Battle of Carthage” little Lucius had been his excuse. Tonight it had been the threat that had let Commodus escape the stronger man’s stranglehold. But the man certainly had the courage to strike. Commodus grinned to himself – and a few good reasons too many. What was holding him back? 

Later Commodus could not sleep as usual. But unusual was that he came to a conclusion after all the brooding in his mind and the twisting and turning in his bed. It was not only Maximus’ superiority in physical strength that made the emperor bite his nails down to the bleeding flesh, but most of all it was his wall of integrity that the soldier had built up in all the years they had been apart. Maximus was a master at controlling his feelings because he knew how to separate the mind from the body and both from his animus. He knew when to let one influence the other so often, he did not have to bother to hide his emotions. He somehow managed to channel them into the right direction, either to fuel or to quench.


	2. Chapter 2

Keen eyes watched the parchment as the flames devoured it. Satisfied eyes. Who were these prolls - no – peasants to imply he wasn’t fit to fight in the arena. 

“ _Commodus imperator! Ille qui personatus est quam Herculi et in arena tigres edentulos mulieresque appugnat!_ – Commodus the emperor! He who dresses up as Hercules and fights in the arena with toothless tigers and women!” 

This time he was too proud to send his spies after the anonymous satirist. Too much attention. One would doubt his self-esteem. 

A clenched fist banged onto the desk – a candleholder clanked to the marble ground and resonated from column to column till it vanished in the vastness of the palace. 

Commodus would not let his beloved people talk like that about him – NO! He would show Rome the warrior her leader had become. Now with Father being dead there was no one who possessed the authority to doubt him. 

He would visit Maximus again tonight. 

* 

“The Spaniard – he is to be brought before me.”

“Yes, Sire,” the elderly warder snapped to attention, “forgive me, Sire. He is resting...”

“At once!” 

The guard just about missed a praetorian’s blow as he scampered off. 

Commodus waited in the visitor cell. He would never forget the look of contempt on the gladiator’s face as he was pushed inside and chained to the back wall. 

“Leave us,” the emperor ordered in his light noble voice.

The two guards departed albeit reluctantly.

The torchlight was sparse and Commodus’ face was nearly entirely hidden under a lush royal blue and golden hood.

“Are you so cross I have disturbed your precious night’s sleep that you refuse to greet your beloved emperor – in the manner which is required!?”

Maximus didn’t bother to answer. “So you missed me – ”

Commodus was hit deep below the belt. Not only by the impudent words. It was more the slave’s smouldering look from beneath his brow and the arrogant posture of folding his arms behind his back as the chains rang. 

“I have not missed you – piece of filth.”

Maximus laughed hoarsely. 

“I have at last come to a conclusion what to do with you, my precious slave.”

The slave mouthed the emperor’s words in mock-surprise.

“Yes, I say precious because I know what power you hold over my people, in what state of stupor, in what frenzy you capture them in a way I thought I would never be able to. Until now.” 

The long chains rattled again as Maximus dropped his arms and stepped forward. Commodus inched even further into his corner, but reached out. 

“I challenge you to fight me in the arena – in three days.” 

“Yes, of course.” 

Maximus grinned and in a split second had Commodus’ wrist twisted round and forced his body backwards into his grasp. 

“I have been waiting for the opportunity to kill you,” he hissed into the emperor’s ear. “An the sooner it dawns the better.”

Commodus inhaled male sweat. He longed to feel the beating heart of this odious animal, but his heavy regal garments prevented it. 

“Under one condition.” 

“How dare you to make demands...” Commodus burst out, but was silenced by a rough hand.

“Remember, I am the one here who has nothing to lose. I don’t care if the mob despises me. When we get out there onto the sands of the Colosseum – what would prevent me from ruining the show, committing suicide or making it too easy for you.” 

The trembling and the stench of anger seeped through Maximus’ flimsy clothing. Commodus fought against his own fear. Yet what would be left in him without it? Only arousal... 

“Alright, what do you desire?” his feeble voice asked. 

“I want you to pleasure me.” 

Commodus’ mind switched off for a second. 

“W-what, do you want a public display of song and dance – I’m not fit for – I haven’t learnt – I –”

Maximus’ hand travelled up Commodus’ throat to silence his ramblings. 

“You know what I mean.” 

And then he let go. 

The shackled slave had now won more power over royalty than any enemy armed to the teeth could have. 

The emperor turned his back on Maximus and was about to make a furious departure. He thought the better of it. He looked into a pair of sheepish eyes – a pride not broken but fuelled.

How can he desire me? Am I not the one who had his wife and son slain? 

As though he read Commodus’ mind Maximus spoke, “Do you remember sword practise in the snow. In Germania?” 

He swallowed. “Of course I do...” 

“And do you remember,” Maximus concluded, “how excited we both got when I dismissed your men and it was just you and me – the snowflakes dissolving on our bodies as we chased each other through the woods, hiding behind trees, aiming our swords at each other’s shadows till I caught you.”

“Yes, yes – you overpowered me on the ground – and it was freezing...”

“...till our royal highness decided it was too cold out and we returned to the camp.” 

Maximus moved away from Commodus towards the oil basin in the corner to warm his hands. 

As he turned to face Commodus again his face was bathed in flame colours.

“Coitus and death are so close.” 

Commodus lowered his eyes to hide the hunger. 

“Then slay me now.”

He pulled fibula out of his cape with control. The precious fabric met the filthy floor. 

Maximus approached and roughly tugged at Commodus’ toga.

“This, too,” he said gruffly. 

The emperor without clothes looked up at the slave and smiled wryly. 

“And this, too,” he said, as he clawed at and finally tore Maximus’ light-blue undergarments. 

At last they were chest to chest, man to man – equals in this first battle to come at this turning point of their lives. Opposites attracted through one evil and the forces of nature. 

The first kiss was rushed, probing enemy territory till both men engaged in vital sucking and licking. Commodus scratched his nails along the other man’s muscles, first his taught shoulders, then down the back. Maximus’ hand searched the last layer of cloth down the emperor’s chest till he found his hardness and squeezed it. 

A gurgled moan escaped the young man’s chest. He bit into Maximus’ lip and freed himself from the overpowering kiss. He looked down his own and the other man’s body. 

“It’s been a long time since... hasn’t it?” Commodus sighed as he watched stiffening flesh twitch under his touch. 

And very soon the emperor was going down on his knees lapping and kissing every patch of smooth skin. His tongue lingered at the scars, mounting them like ridges, then glided further down as his hand found its way up the inside of Maximus’ thigh. As the emperor’s mouth engulfed the prominent erection, the body twitched, but the slave’s ultimate silence neutralised the reaction. Commodus’ hands caught sweat around Maximus’ hips, but the skin felt dead despite the heat it was radiating. He sucked, licked, flicked his tongue against the head of the slave’s phallus and stopped. He pulled back a little to see crystal blue eyes stare into the distance.

A seductive whisper wrought him out of his reverie.

“Look at me.” 

“A-eh,” Maximus sighed and obeyed. 

Batting his long eyelashes once – twice, eyes fixed on his opponent, Commodus engulfed the gladiator’s erection slowly. He sucked it in deep, let it glide out. Then sucked it in again, this time deeper. And swallowed. And swallowed again. The phallus was warm and alive in his mouth and he relished it with every swipe of his tongue. 

Maximus couldn’t help himself. Yes, it had been so long, the power of this man’s skills was overwhelming. He had to bury his hands in the thick course hair.

A hand snaked up his thigh and lifted his balls as the pace sped up.

“Nngh – yes!” Maximus groaned. And Commodus stopped. He let the bouncing organ slip from his wet lips, saliva glistening. As he got up from his knees he let them be kissed again. 

“You didn’t finish – am I to expect more?” 

Commodus took a handful of the other man’s buttock.

“I think we shall move on from here.” 

Only covered in a long white shirt the emperor gracefully moved toward the oil basin.

“Reach out,” he demanded.

Maximus hesitated. Then he offered his cupped palms. 

Carefully the cruel man tipped the basin slightly and poured some of the scorching liquid into the slave’s hands. 

He could see Maximus’ jaw clench, his eyes watered up, but he wouldn’t relent. 

“Brave man.”

“I have enough hard skin on my palms.” Maximus forced out a chuckle. “I’d like to see you do the same.” Still he stood, worthy of a statue.

Brazenly Commodus bathed his left hand in the slightly cooled oil in Maximus’ hand and let it trickle trough his fingers a while till he reached under his own shirt. As he did so he turned round and lifted the hem. He let his own fingers, first one, then two, then three slide into his widening anus always casting a look over his shoulder to make sure Maximus was watching. And indeed he was. He couldn’t take his eyes off the shameless display. 

Commodus sighed as he pleasured himself. His fingers dug deeper, faster. Maximus’ erection – shortly diminished by the pain of his hands – was hardening rapidly. Again and again Commodus’ fingers dove into the oily palms to retrieve what would make their coupling all the more delightful.

With three fingers still buried inside him, Commodus spoke quite calmly, “You may now drop your hands.” 

At last, Maximus thought, and spread the remaining oil across Commodus’ chest, tearing the cloth from him in shreds and rubbing it all into his skin. 

The two men were very close now. Two bodies inseparably pressed to one another, the oil sleek and sweetening the friction. 

Commodus lavished the coarseness of Maximus’ chest while the other man sought to ruin the pureness which was Commodus’ skin with bites and scratches. They let their upright phalluses slip past each other from side to side in unbearable anticipation. 

After another long kiss Commodus let his lips travel to Maximus’ ear.

“I think I’m ready.” 

He tugged once more at Maximus’ erection. 

“How?”

“Here on the floor.” 

His hands wandered down Maximus’ sides as he lay down on his discarded clothes. He rejoiced in the secrecy of their situation.

Maximus grunted as he lowered himself onto the other man and forcefully turned him facedown. 

For the first time Maximus took Commodus’ phallus and balls into his hand from underneath. He jerked a few times roughly, then wandered back up again along Commodus’ cleft, making sure a finger lingered at the twitching opening. 

He leant down.

“You really are well prepared, my emperor.” 

Just a sigh, and maybe a whimper, and Maximus’ thick cock was buried inside in a split second. 

Commodus was in heaven. Maximus was perfect: press-ups and digging right down again from above. Into him.

“Oh gods, I might come from this alone...” he moaned.

Maximus laughed. He was well on the way. He played with Commodus’ lips, let him lick his fingers like a cat. But he eventually wanted to get at Commodus’ cock. He pulled at his hips and lifted him up. 

“Argh – I’m so close...” Maximus groaned. 

Commodus clenched his buttocks as he arranged himself on his knees. 

“Then make sure you fuck me well before you come!”

And he banged against Maximus a few times who then took control again immediately, grabbed Commodus’ hips with one hand and his cock in the other fucked him into oblivion. 

* 

All was quiet. The mob was silent. But in his head the blood seemed louder than ten-thousand men. Numbed by his own unbearable pain the last spurts of vengeful rage surely guided the dagger into the other man’s throat. And as the last breath escaped the white-clad beauty’s soiled mouth, the warrior’s hand gently lowered the youth’s head toward the sand – till he dropped him.

He was going to die now, too. Sometimes fortune threw one fiercer into the arms of one’s enemies than those of one’s beloved. And now they were going to die together. He had once loved Commodus. He could have loved him again.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The movie “Gladiator” which this story is based on belongs to Universal and Dreamworks. There is no profit being made here, so I’m not breaking copyright laws by publishing this.

**Author's Note:**

> The movie “Gladiator” which this story is based on belongs to Universal and Dreamworks. There is no profit being made here, so I’m not breaking copyright laws by publishing this.


End file.
